#pre-reichenbach

The moonlight slid over the city, unnoticed in the brightness. London was glowing with beauty and few saw it. Jim's face was upturned toward the light, squinting at the city.

"Come to bed," Seb said, coming to stand beside him.

"Can't," Jim replied shortly. He pressed his hand on the glass, brown eyes reflecting the light.

Seb wrapped his arms around his boss from behind, chin resting on top of his head. It was past midnight and Jim had gone here again, to stare at the city.

This was the eighth night in a row.

Jim leaned his head into the sniper's bare chest. He closed his eyes, simply feeling the light. There was too much to tell Seb, too much to think about. He could feel his life ebbing away, even as he was held in his bodyguard's strong arms.

This was something beyond what his dear tiger could understand. Moriarty was vaguely aware of the light fading into more natural tones, after being left alone. He opened his eyes to the light of day and the taste of Seb's lips, seasoned with black coffee.

Ignoring the wordless plea for attention, Jim began to pull away, only to be brought back. Again and again, Seb's mouth came down on Jim's.

When that didn't work, he slid his tongue between the consulting criminal's teeth. Finally, Jim began to awaken, shivering at the intimate touches from the sniper, all over his body.

Only Sherlock could ever hear these words, “You won’t ever leave me, will you, Sherlock?”

(( I have this on repeat right now, so, if want to take a listen... -Pritt ))

London was always a bustling city, with people scurrying about, walking quickly to go to their destinations; people to see, meetings to attend, drugs to sell, liquor to purchase, papers to be filed, papers to be burnt. It seemed that no matter at what time of day, London was always moving, cars moving through the streets lucidly, like blood flowing through veins; it was a natural beat. 

However, there was a period of time where the city seemed to calm down, relax its shoulders and sink into a chair for a moment, before having to get back up and run and rush throughout the day.

Sherlock Holmes flicked his wrist and looked at his watch.

Outside the flat of 221B Baker St., the streetlamp's light shone against the concrete sidewalk gently, the pavement glowing and smelling that of the peace after rain. Indeed, the whole street was wet, water still dripping from the ends of windows and bicycles and flower petals. 

Two-thirty in the morning was, indeed, a quiet, calming time of the day.

The tall man had lowered his hand from the curtain and turned to the dark room; only one light had came into the flat; Everything was stroked with the soft yellow of the streetlight. As  slowly as he could, he crept across the flat and sat down in his usual armchair, legs crossed. 

Just in case you didn't want to read it on livejournal because livejournal has become THE DEVIL. It's here.

seriously, they are the best John. i am near tears.

I promised you a heartbreak. So here. Fuck this scanner I'm posting badly brightened camera phone pictures now~